PLANS
Bill awoke, yawned, then sat up in bed. Broad daylight was streaming
into the room through the screened windows and a glance at his watch
showed the time to be nine o’clock. The door opened and Osceola poked
his dark head around the edge of it.
“How’s the bandaged hero this morning?” he inquired and came into the
bedroom.
“Sleepy, thank you.” Bill swung his legs over the side of the bed,
stretched luxuriously and stood up. “I’ll feel more human when I’ve had
a shower. Nothing happened across the way last night?”
“Not a blessed thing, and Deborah, I’m glad to say, seems quite her old
self this morning.”
“Good! Any orders from the boss?”
“Davis, you mean?”
“Yeah. What’s the old sleuth doing this merry morn?”
“He’s gone to New York. Left on the express an hour and a half ago, said
he’d be back by six-thirty this evening at the latest.”
“What are we to do in the meantime?”
“Take it easy. I didn’t sleep a wink last night, so I’m going to make up
for it. I peeped in here a couple of times, but you were a dead one.”
“Why did you wait for me to wake up?”
“Davis left some of that salve for your hands. I knew you couldn’t apply
it yourself and get the bandages back on again, so—”
“You did yourself out of some sleep for my sake—Well, you certainly are
a good chap, Osceola! Let me get under that shower and then we’ll go to
it on the first aid job.”
When Bill’s hands were dressed, Osceola went to his room, while his host
spent a quiet morning lazing about the house. After lunch the boys
fetched Dorothy and Deborah and drove down to the Beach Club. While Bill
lay on the sand in the sun, the other three took a dip in the
invigorating waters of Long Island Sound.
After ice cream and cakes on the Club House porch, they drove up into
the hills to New Canaan again, much refreshed by their outing. All
mention of winged cartwheels had been taboo throughout the afternoon,
and Bill felt that he was ready to face the forthcoming adventure in
Greenwich with added vim and a head swept clear of the cobwebs of worry
and too much excitement. They dropped the girls at the Dixons’ and after
driving home, found Mr. Davis smoking on the porch.
“Well, you men,” he greeted them with a jolly smile, “have you had a
real lazy—and therefore profitable—day of it?”
“We sure have,” said Osceola. “Not only ourselves but the girls as well.
We’ve just come back from a swim in the Sound. Poor Bill missed out on
that end of it, though.”
“Glad you’ve had a good rest,” observed the secret service man, “you
both needed it. Let’s have a look at the hands, Bill.”
“They certainly feel all to the merry,” said their owner, as the
bandages were removed.
“And they are all to the merry, Bill.” Mr. Davis gently wiped away the
brown salve with a clean piece of linen. “Just a little red, that’s all.
They’ve healed by first intention, as I knew they would. Go easy with
them for a couple of days and they’ll give you no more trouble.”
Bill stared at them in amazement. “That salve sure is wonderful stuff,
sir! It’s worried me all day—that they might put a crimp in my evening.
But I guess I’d better wear a pair of gloves, eh?”
“Yes, cotton ones for choice.”
“I’ll drive down to the village and see if I can pick up a pair for
you,” offered Osceola.
“You forget,” said Bill, “that once upon a time, I was a midshipman.
White cotton gloves are part of the equipment.”
“That reminds me,” said Mr. Davis. “I had a wire early this morning in
response to one I sent Washington last night. My conference today in New
York was with no less a person that a member of the President’s cabinet.
This is a very serious charge we’re making against a very big man—who is
also a tremendous power in politics, unfortunately, although few people
are aware of that fact. And when I tell you that the gentleman I met
today came from the capital as the direct representative of the
President of the United States and as his spokesman, you may begin to
get an idea of the magnitude this winged cartwheels affair has assumed.
Tonight’s reconnoiter, for it will be little more than that, must be
handled with kid gloves.”
“White cotton for mine!” Bill grinned at Osceola.
“Right-o, boy!” laughed the detective. “Maybe I’m getting a little too
serious. But I’ve staked my reputation on Professor Fanely’s being the
person we are looking for and any slips on our part mean an end to your
friend Ashton Sanborn so far as his career is concerned.”
“And whatever careers may be opening up for Bill Bolton, and Osceola,
the Seminole, for that matter!” supplemented the young Chief.
“Exactly! Now I’m going to tell you this evening’s plans—and I expect
implicit obedience.”
Both young fellows nodded.
“We—that is, the three of us, will leave here after dinner in my car, so
as to arrive in Greenwich about nine o’clock. It will be dark then. You
lads will get out of the car about a quarter of a mile before we come to
the Fanely estate, while I go on in the car and call on Professor
Fanely.”
“What? You’re going up to the house quite openly?” Osceola cried.
“Quite openly, Chief, and in by the front door. I shall have credentials
with me, and the probabilities are I shall be granted an interview by
the old man. My pretext for intruding upon him will be that the man
Kolinski, for whom the federal authorities are seeking, has been seen in
the grounds. I shall tell the old man that it is understood this Pole is
in his employ, but that no matter what references Kolinski may have had,
he is an impostor, and a pedlar of narcotics.”
Bill drew a deep breath. “Well, I know it’s not my place to criticize,
and I hope you’ll forgive me. But don’t you think an approach like that
is pretty poor stuff, Mr. Davis? It hardly seems reasonable to me that a
man of Professor Fanely’s mentality would swallow bunk like that.”
Mr. Davis’ bright eyes twinkled. “I’ll be the most surprised man in
Connecticut if he does,” he laughed. “But you’re missing the point,
Bill, and naturally so. The only reason I’m calling on Professor Fanely
is to make him talk.”
“But what about the master mind? _Will_ it spill the beans?” Osceola
asked incredulously.
“Why, not at all. As I said before, the idea is to get him to talk—and
while he’s talking, you chaps will be outside the window, listening to
his voice. Incidentally, I expect to make a mental note of his
expression when Kolinski is mentioned to him. But, my young critics,
your listening stunt is the one and only reason we’re going to Greenwich
tonight. By orders of the President, I am not permitted to go further in
this case until both of you have identified Professor Fanely’s voice as
the one you heard, blindfolded, in that tower room yesterday morning.”
“But how,” asked Bill, “are we going to know in which room you two will
be swapping lies? I’ve been past the Fanely place, and though the house
is too far back from the road to see it well, they tell me it is about
the size of an orphan asylum, and just as ugly. Have you any idea where
your interview will take place?”
“I have. The man I conferred with in New York today says that Fanely
always sees callers in his library. The library is at the front of the
house, on the northwest corner. You’ll be able to stand in the shrubbery
and see into the room very easily.”
“Thank heaven, it’s on the ground floor!” sighed Bill with relief. “I’ve
had just about all the climbing I want lately.”
Mr. Davis gave Bill a grave smile. “Yes, it is just as well you’ll have
no climbing tonight, with those hands. But to get back to the plan of
campaign. When I leave you chaps, get into the grounds and make for the
house. Chances are the old fellow is well guarded, so be on the watch.
After the way you two went through the woods up at Heartfield’s, I’m
sure you’re capable of making your objective without being seen. Choose
one of the windows at the side of the house, if possible. And keep under
cover. Listen to the conversation until you’re sure that Fanely is our
man. Then go back to the road. I will pick you up there.”
“What if the windows are closed?” Osceola inquired. “This weather is
warm enough, but the aged are never keen on drafts or fresh air, you
know.”
“That’s a good point, Chief, and I’ve got something here that will take
care of it.” He produced a small package from his coat pocket. “Putty
and a diamond-tipped glass-cutter’s tool,” he explained. “Slap the putty
on the window pane, then cut round it with the tool. The piece of cut
glass will come away with the putty. If you lads stick with me for any
length of time, I’ll soon have you trained as expert housebreakers,” he
laughed.
“That,” said Bill, “is all right as far as it goes, but also suppose the
old buzzard gets nasty. Our one and only interview with him gave me the
impression that he could be fiendishly cruel when he chose.”
Mr. Davis looked puzzled. “I don’t think I quite get you, Bill.”
“I mean, sir, what provision have you made for your own safety?
Supposing Old Fanely, who is nobody’s fool by your own admission, gets
an inkling of what is really in the wind, and has his men jump you? The
fiend was capable of having us put out of the way. He may try the same
thing on you.”
“Oh, no, he won’t. In the first place he will know exactly who I am and
what I represent. If I were done away with, his plans, whatever they
are, would come tumbling down like a house of cards. Such procedure
would jeopardize his enormous interests and immediately place him in a
position where the police would step in and apprehend him for murder. I
talked over such possibilities with the man I saw in New York and we
discounted them. Professor Fanely, unless pushed to the wall, will do
nothing so crude as that. This is simply a business call I’m making. He
will probably deny any knowledge of Kolinski; I will string him along
for a while so you two can get an earful and then bid him good
night,—with apologies for taking up his valuable time.”
“Couldn’t we notify Captain Simmonds, or even the Greenwich police to
keep a watchful eye open?” persisted Bill. “I hate to think of you
putting yourself in that old devil’s power. The Chief and I have been in
direct contact with him—you haven’t!”
Mr. Davis seemed touched. “It’s good of you boys to take so much
interest in my safety, and I appreciate it, I need hardly tell you. But
the thing is impossible. My orders are to keep this absolutely to
ourselves. Not even the police must hear a rumor against the Professor.
The gentleman from Washington ridiculed the idea of Fanely’s being
connected with any scandal. He said frankly that he believed it to be a
case of mistaken identity. And it was only after a long and serious
discussion that I obtained permission to call on Fanely. He allowed me
to outline my suppositions, but told me that if we continue on this
trail, we must go it alone.”
“Which means, of course,” Osceola remarked, “that if Bill and I are
caught in the grounds and manhandled for trespassing, you will deny that
we were acting under your orders, and we’re just as likely to get a jail
sentence for our trouble.”
“That,” said Mr. Davis, “is the case in a nutshell. I won’t insult you
chaps by asking whether you’re willing to follow my lead. I shall carry
a revolver and you do as you choose about going armed. Now then, all
well?”
Both lads laughed, and nodded vigorous affirmative.
“Let’s go in and eat,” suggested Bill. “And here’s hoping we really get
something on old Fanely after dinner.”